


faz que me mata; e se não mata, fere

by fourthdimnsion



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Fluff, M/M, a thank you kiss is very welcome in tough moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthdimnsion/pseuds/fourthdimnsion
Summary: Gustavo unveils his once buried feelings as he tries to reach for Mike, noticing him being as distant as the sun setting by in the horizon.Title from "Samurai", by Djavan.
Relationships: Mike Ehrmantraut/Gustavo Fring
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	faz que me mata; e se não mata, fere

**Author's Note:**

> from the prompt: "mike and gus in a tree, kissing" except that they're not in a tree but under one because they're old and i wont risk their lives. jk jk
> 
> enjoy <3

Gustavo had buried his feelings for so long that he found himself far from them. Mike had done the same, except that he still does it at an unhealthy frequent pace considering his conditions — considering what’s left and what has gone with a blow, leaving a void that still consumes him nowadays. 

In the end, they’re quite the same pieces of a shattered glass. 

When Gustavo sat at his side on a bench, under a tree, he hadn’t nothing on his sleeve to bring upon Mike but be a companion to stare at the sunset with. No chattering, no _ask for_ , only a silence that brought them nothing but a solemn peace that eased life and made it worth living. 

Gus heard a sigh and glanced at him, hiding his concern towards the bruises underneath his eye. The purple with a few drops of red within its tone contrasted slightly with the blue of his eyes; and if Gustavo wasn’t mistaken, he’d believe that the low sunlight highlighted them with a gloomy wonder. 

“If you have something else to tell me, go ahead,” Mike suddenly said. “I don’t need your pitiness.” 

“I don’t have any,” he replied, his words a tone far from his casual indifference, which caused Mike to look straight at his dark eyes. “I just wanted to see if you’re still alive after what happened.” 

He kept himself quiet, but that’s how he waited for anything Gus might ask for. At this point, he’d expected anything coming from Gus whenever he sees him, whenever they meet or talk. Still, he hadn’t anything in mind, giving no responses to his silence. 

“Fine, then,” Mike quickly took his eyes off him, looking at the empty street. “I’m good. I’m fine. Everything is on point, one hundred percent intact.” And then, feeling an odd impression by this ongoing stare — and the concern hidden there — he added, “Don’t worry about me.” 

Gustavo intertwined his fingers, one with another, and glanced at them briefly before looking at the same point whose Mike’s stare focused on.

“I worry about my subordinates’ well being, and you’re no exception for me,” he pointed. “Although I may say that you’re… quite special from the others.”

“By the amount of times you’ve saved me, that isn’t hard to guess.” 

The bruises on his skin are the on-point prove of the gratitude Gus expected to receive from Mike. Kinda bittersweetly if dared to say, if dared to think about: Mike smudges his hands with blood, someone smudges theirs as well by taking care of his wounds, and Gus’ are still intact, not a drip touching his skin. Mike had made himself accustomed with this fact and has his gratitude towards him for countless reasons, and one of them in particular is what Gus might tell that’s what made them bond, or what made him fond of Mike. They’d threaded it from the beginning and now it’s firm and trustworthy as iron, but so delicate that scissors can easily tear them down by the same circumstances they crafted it firstly. 

A wind blew a few leaves nearby and made more fall. Time passes by. Shadows began to grow under small buildings, cars, trees, people occasionally passing by, and it forms unexplainably long tails made out of what the sun cannot reach. 

Gustavo takes another glance at Mike, wanting to see what he has to offer this time — what kind of feeling carried beneath his eyes, mostly. How long he hadn't slept well, how much he’d cried, how much time he’d spent awake dealing with what he’ll never know or see. Gustavo had a small impression— A desire to reach for him or allow Mike to reach himself, but it was little enough to answer clearly why he felt this way or even care about a feeling other than acknowledgement for Mike’s services. 

A dog barked somewhere far from them, echoing loudly to be heard. 

Gustavo was always careful about the next step, about his next move as if he’s in a continuous chess game, not allowing himself to commit mistakes. However, leaning his hand and calmly reaching it towards Mike’s face wasn’t on his roots. He didn’t even think twice, didn’t even think about it — it came as natural as breathing, without complex circumstances other than kindness, the sweetest kindness buried on the deepest of his being. 

He stopped in the moment he regained control of his body again, leaving it standing in the air uselessly, waiting for the next command. 

But then, within a second, he changed his mind and allowed himself to commit a mistake: he moved forward. The tip of his finger gently touched the swollen surface of the bruise beneath his eye, not pressing it or leaving it without any sort of contact. Just there, as Gus added the middle and the ring fingers and slided it a little through the cheekbone, whose color was getting less and less colorful and more monochromatic. 

Mike flinched. Not because it hurted or ached or brought him any sort of discomfort — although it did —, but because it felt different. It was a different kind of treatment Gus was giving him now, and any change in behavior between them, mostly Gus’ towards Mike, was something that called his attention. 

At the end of the cheekbone, almost reaching his ear, Mike gently held his hand and stopped him. That was the best given chance to see his knuckles, the same pattern of his bruise almost reproduced with the exception of the trampled blood — and, of course, the sight of his flesh. Gus remained his silence even with that, even with being held this way; but it didn’t keep the same way when Mike stared at him. Something inside him boiled with that, as if he got what he secretly wanted but never admitted it to anyone but himself. 

“Why?” Mike asked, and if Gus properly readed his eyes, he’d see that he drifted him off his thoughts. They seem distant to a degree that he didn’t know if he could somehow reach him. 

“Allow me,” Gustavo muttered. “Please.” 

Mike stayed still for a little more than Gustavo liked to. Then, a sudden change came within his eyes — not a different shade of blue or a sparkle that made them shine, but _something_ Gustavo couldn’t explain but understood perfectly — as he gently approached his hand and kissed its back. His lips kindly touched his warm skin once, giving him an enjoyable surprise, and twice, placing the last on his knuckles; all of them so slow and careful for an unspoken acknowledgement. 

Gus tried to reach his fingers with his own, but Mike’s grip was around his wrist. He sighed shortly when Mike stopped and looked at him once more, Gus’ ears burning by the sudden gesture accompanied by the sudden glare which both almost teared his composure apart. It didn’t hurt being seen this way, but it felt hard to leave his vulnerability aside. 

“Is this good for you?” He questioned; and there’s a hint that he can keep it going if it wasn’t enough. 

He blinked, regaining his countenance — even though he’s unsure about what to wear now. “It is,” he answered, his voice softened, not rigid as he uses it with his men. _It is_ , Gus repeats to himself as he notices a small yearn, a fraction that still wants to dive into this new feeling. 

“Good,” Mike said, placing his hand on the bench and not releasing it — instead, he raised his grip from Gus’ wrist to the back of his hand, holding it softly as if he’s merely leaving his palm above his back.

Mike’s hand was so warm that it gave him the slightest impression that he’s caressing him while keeping him still, not allowing him to go further where it hurts the most.

“Michael,” Gustavo murmured. It wasn’t a question nor an affirmation; it was a call to be answered, and he did it. Nothing else was added then, because all Gus needed was to see his eyes again and feel it all boiling at once inside him — feelings of safety and danger, of crossing a line when one wasn’t established yet, but mostly, of trust, crafted by careful steps as Mike successfully proved his competency more than twice and Gustavo appreciated every single one of them. 

Clouds brushed the pinky and blue sky with orange tones.

Gustavo placed his hand above Mike’s, and chose to wear tenderness instead of the usual cold countenance. He hoped that this — the relief in the depth of his pupils by seeing him safe and alive — would be enough to tell how grateful he’s and how Mike _really_ isn’t an exception for him. 

However, Gus falters a little when Mike smiles — a smirk accompanied with a soft exhale — and the first thought that crosses his mind is to kiss him, even if it's a single one whose lips don't go further than touching each other. They’re relatively close, it only takes one lean. Gustavo takes a brief moment to consider it, and when he achieves any sort of way to do it or ask him, Mike is already leaning in — and he does it anyway. 

They kiss. 

At first it’s inevitably odd to do it with someone that isn’t Max. Then, by the moment their lips dovetail and Gustavo feels its warmth and softness, he feels a familiar feeling of satisfaction that went absent long ago, a bliss running through his mind as his free hand gripped firmly on Mike’s. His answer for this soft gesture was to cup Gus’ face with his free hand, pulling him closer, letting him in once more. 

They kiss. They kiss so passionately they could fall. They kiss, and when they part, Gustavo giggles a little at the thought that he’d forgotten how it was to kiss after so long without doing it with someone. ‘ _Awesome_ ’, he’d breathe, but he didn’t want to break this — although Mike kept his smirk as a signal that everything was fine. And it was. 

It’s starting to get dark; the sun is fully setted on the horizon and the remnants of it will fade away soon. One has to leave, but their faces are still close from one another and it’s easy to feel each other’s warm shaken breath. 

“I think we’re done here,” Mike said, his voice smooth for Gustavo’s own delight, even though the message wasn’t one of the most pleasant ones. 

Gustavo opens his eyes, being the first to reluctantly distance himself from Mike as his hand softly slides away from his face. It hurts him, somehow, to release him. 

“We are,” he confirmed, not changing a bit of his friendly countenance. Mike widens his smile as a way of saying something, a ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’ or anything else that goes by this spectrum, as he retreats his hand back as well. 

A bittersweet feeling rises up his stomach when Mike gets up and leaves without another glance. Gustavo cannot explain why he himself had done that and why he grew attached to this— Everything in this, but he still watched him leave until not being in his sight anymore, as he always did. 

For a brief moment, Gustavo doesn’t think of anything. He rests his back on the bench and looks above him, seeing light blue spots within leaves and leaves of the tree. If he dared to look further, to search it, he would see stars popping up in the sky as night is about to come. 

He sighs, satisfied, a shape of a sincere smile drawing his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
